


The Statue

by Taybay14



Series: Saving people, writing prompts [27]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Confused Dean Winchester, Destiny, Explorer Castiel, First Kiss, Fluff, Forced Marriage, Happy Ending, Magic, Mentions of homophobia, Prince Dean Winchester, Prophecies, Selling souls/spells, Silly Dean Winchester, Some world build/history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 21:08:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20070613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taybay14/pseuds/Taybay14
Summary: Prompt:   King John discovers his son Dean is part Demon destined to be married to Lord of Hell. Unwilling to let that happen he turns Dean into a statue. Centuries later a young explorer by the name of Cas finds the statue and accidentally frees Dean. So it's like marriage will go through the only problem is Dean has had his heart stolen by the cute explorer.- longkissgoodnightbatmanandtwofac





	The Statue

Castiel checks his compass for the fourth time, then squints at his map. He marks the spot he’s at with the red marker and decides to stay there for the night, putting his equipment away. After he pitches his tent, Castiel goes looking for firewood. He’s hoping to make a fire, eat a quick dinner, and get to bed early. If all goes well, he can finish his exploration tomorrow. 

Two minutes later, things are already off track. Castiel has found something tangled in the branches of an overgrown bush. He hacks away at it, his explorer curiosity getting the best of him. Once it’s uncovered, Castiel steps back and looks at the mystery object. It’s a statue. A statue of what looks like a man, about the same height and size as Castiel, with a crown on his head. 

It’s not strange to find old statues as an explorer. Castiel has found plenty of artifacts since he started doing this. What is strange? The fact that this doesn’t look as dated as it should. The last documented civilization to exist in this area was 200 B.C, before the rainforest began to take over and no one could sustain life long term. This statue can’t be more than a few centuries old. 

Castiel leans forward, noticing that there’s a green jewel over the man’s heart. Around it is a script. Latin. He rests his fingertips on the stone and whispers the words, his brain translating it into a broken english. Before he has enough time to fully comprehend what he’s saying, the statue is vibrating. 

“What the-” Castiel stumbles back, eyes going wide. 

The stone seems to melt away, leaving behind nothing but flesh and bone. The man gasps and stumbles forward, straight into Castiel’s arms. 

“No!” he screams, fighting against Castiel immediately. “You can’t do this! You can’t-”

The man stops yelling, eyes blinking a few times as he realizes the person in front of him is not his father’s magician, but a stranger. He stares at the young man in shock. His clothes are… rather strange. The pants look as if they’re the same material as a heavy canvas tent, and the same color too. His shoes are weirdly shaped, almost like the boots of a soldier, and seem to have leather on them in uncommon places. He’s wearing a hooded coat and a shirt beneath it that seems to be missing it’s neck and chest. A strange purse like bag is on the man. And the thing on his head? It looks like the hats the princesses wear to the tea parties. 

Castiel isn’t even able to care about the man-that-was-the-statue’s clothing. He’s more concerned about the fact that this statue just turned into a damn man. A statue. Rock. Covered in vines and leaves. Now a man. A man who yells and gasps and has freckles and muscles and blushing cheeks and the most gorgeous green eyes. 

“My apologies,” the strange statue-man says in a steady voice. “I’m afraid I’m not aware of your name.”

“My - my name?” Castiel looks around, waiting for some TV crew to come say this is a joke. Then he looks back at the statue-man. “I’m - uh… I’m Castiel.”

“Castiel? That’s it?”

“I guess?” Castiel takes a step back, feeling uneasy. “What’s your name?”

The statue-man mumbles ‘he guesses?’ under his breath, then states in a normal voice, “My name is Dean Winchester the Third, First son of John, Prince of Campbell.”

Castiel squints at him. Campbell. Winchester. That’s the name of the civilization and prominent ruling family that was located nearly 300 miles away from this location. 

Dean. 

Prince Dean Winchester. Of Campbell. Why does that sound so damn familiar?

“My apologies,” the statue-man - well,  _ Dean  _ \- says again. “Do you have information on the whereabouts of Gabriel?”

“Gabriel?”

“Gabriel, yes.” When Castiel continues to just stare at him, Dean clarifies. “The royal magician. Gabriel. Surely you know Gabriel.”

Giving Dean a strange look, Castiel says, “Magician’s aren’t real.”

Dean huffs. He’s not in the mood for this strange man and his idiocy. “Magic is well-known in Campbell. The royal family has allowed it for generations now, Castiel. I do not have time for this nonsense. Tell me what you did with the magician Gabriel, or I will have you sequestered.”

“Oh boy.” Castiel rubs his forehead. Maybe magic is real. He  _ did  _ just see a statue turn into a man. A man that’s now talking to him. Interacting with him. Speaking to him like he’s from another time and place. “Okay, Dean. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Gabriel and I arguing. He was - he was attempting to harm me, upon my father’s orders, but I had been speaking with him. Reasoning with him.”

“And then?”

“And then this. You touching me.”

Castiel takes a deep breath. “And when was that? The argument with Gabriel.”

“Today? Perhaps yesterday? There’s a chance I lost consciousness and-”

“No, the date. The date on your calendar. What was the date. The year?”

Dean looks at him as if he’s crazy. “1509.” 

“Wow. I - wow. Okay. Yeah. That - that makes sense.” Castiel puts his hands on his hips and stares at the ground. He came here to explore the area for an ancient underground temple that documents say should be here somewhere. Not to find a statue that turns into a man that’s really the prince of the royal family of Campbell, a civilization that crumbled in 1511 over 300 miles from this very spot. 

“What year is it now?” Dean asks, for the first time looking afraid instead of just confused and annoyed. 

“2019.”

“20- no. Certainly - no. That cannot be.”

“I mean, you’re the one that says magic is real. From what I’m gathering, Gabriel turned you into a statue and left you here. For, well, 510 years.”

Dean stumbles back, hand going to his mouth. “But - but then - my father. My mother. Sam. Is Sam - no, he must - oh my gods.”

Feeling guilty, and hating that he’s the one to deliver this news, Castiel rips the band-aid off. “Your family all died in 1511. Your brother murdered your father after accusing him of killing you. Campbell split into two factions, one in support of Sam Winchester and the other in support of your dead father. By the end of the year, the entire civilization had crumbled.”

A rough growl tears from Dean’s chest. Then he grabs the shiny gold crown from his head and swings his arm, chucking it as far as he can throw. He screams. Kicks a tree. Falls to his knees and tugs at his hair. Then he bangs his fists on the ground and yells at the grass, “You bastard! You ruined it all! You ruined everything!”

“Woah! What’s - who are you talking to?” Castiel tries to put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, but he shrugs him off. After Dean is finished pounding at the ground, Castiel tries once more, without touching him this time. “You must be hungry. Come with me and I’ll take care of you. We can figure this out.”

On shaking legs, Dean stands. He avoids looking at Castiel in case the rules of men crying are still the same in 2019. It’s not his father that he’s grieving, though he had always looked up to the man in a way, but his mother and brother. Sammy especially. Sammy had defended him. Died defending him. 

“Yes,” Dean mumbles, wiping at his face before turning to give Castiel a false smile. “Food. Food would be great.”

  
  


\----

  
  


“Sir! Sir!” the demon Crowley nearly falls over himself, waving his hands frantically as he approaches Lucifer.

Lucifer sneers. “What?”

“Dean Winchester! The prince! He’s on the radar again. He’s - he’s no longer missing!”

Sitting up in his seat, Lucifer demands, “Tell me where he is.”

Crowley gulps. “We - we aren’t sure yet, sire. But soon. We will find him soon. His presence was sensed, and that’s a - it’s a start. We just need to find him now. It won’t take long at all. I swear, sire.”

“You have one week to find my boy, Crowley. Or I’ll eat your soul for a bedtime snack.” Lucifer stands, hovering over him with a glare of literal fire. “Do I make myself clear?”

  
  


\----

  
  


Having no idea what else to do with a 500 year old prince who spent his life as a statue, Castiel brings him home. Immediately. They’re back in America by the next morning. Dean is terrified of all things. The computer. The phone. The airplane. The airport. The taxi. The apartment complex. The TV. The fridge. The bathroom. The only thing Dean feels comfortable with is the four poster canopy bed that Castiel has in the bedroom. It’s where he is at almost all of the time. Just sitting there, staring at the floor. It takes Castiel four hours to get Dean to drink some tea and talk. It takes him six to convince Dean to take a bath and change into some of Castiel’s clothes. It takes him nine to get him to sleep. 

Dean says the only way he’ll sleep is if Castiel promises to stay by his side. He’s afraid, but he won’t tell Castiel of what. It doesn’t matter. Castiel promises to be there the whole night. And he keeps that promise. For seven perfect hours, Castiel lays by Dean’s side and just watches the man sleep. Breathe. Mumble under his breath. Shift under the blankets. 

Then Castiel falls asleep himself, unable to fight the exhaustion any longer. He rests his hand over Dean’s, tangling their fingers together on the mattress between them. It feels right. 

  
  


\----

  
  


When Dean wakes up, he’s feeling well rested and better about his situation. Especially when he finds Castiel’s hand in his. He slowly turns to his side and studies the man beside him. He’s gorgeous. If it had been allowed in his time, Dean would have married this man. Absolutely. The moment he set eyes on him, he knew he would have. But Dean was supposed to marry a woman. 

Well, according to destiny, Dean was actually supposed to marry the Lord of Hell Lucifer. Hence his father’s hatred for him. His father’s plan to turn him into a damn statue. Not only was he supposed to marry a man - a huge no-no - but the man was a demon. The  _ king  _ of the demons. Add on the fact that this all meant Dean was part demon? That his mother had cheated on his father with a demon, making Dean both illegitimate as well as a constant reminder of Mary’s infidelity? Of course his father didn’t want him around anymore. John Winchester would have murdered him and been done with it, but then Dean’s soul would have gone to hell. Straight to Lucifer. He needed a different plan. Gabriel and his stupid green jewel was the solution. 

Now, 500 years later, Dean is alive. Fatherless. Living in a world where he saw seventeen different same sex couples openly, safely loving each other between where the statue was held and this place Castiel lives. 

Seventeen. 

Eighteen, perhaps, if Castiel is willing to try. 

Dean needs to stay away from Lucifer. Stay hidden. He’s hoping the charm is still working somehow, because otherwise Lucifer would have him already, wouldn’t he? Maybe Gabriel’s spell did something. Or maybe Lucifer has been killed and someone else is king. Someone who has no interest in Dean as a husband. 

Slipping out of the bed, Dean goes to the kitchen. He pokes at the thing Castiel called the stove a few times, trying to figure it out. When he turns a knob, flames erupt around black metal spokes. Dean yelps and steps back, but the flames dim until they’re small and low. Manageable. 

Carefully, Dean places a pan on it, just as he would over a normal fire in his home. Next, he looks in the fridge. There are eggs - though they are in a strange insect shaped container. Dean ignores that, taking the eggs out and cracking them into the pan, smiling when they sizzle just as they would in his day. 

As he stirs them, he gets ambitious. There is bread and butter. Once he has figured out how to spread the butter onto the two slices of bread, Dean wants to warm them. Usually Dean, or his servants if he didn’t feel like cooking, would place the bread over a flat metal plate that would hover over the fire. Just until the butter got melty and the bread crisped. 

Since there’s none of that here, Dean turns knobs until another fire appears, and places the bread on the weird black metal over the flames. He looks for a second, then shrugs. Turning away, Dean focuses back on the eggs. 

Moments later, a terribly loud noise fills Dean’s ears. He stumbles back, knocking over a vase full of flowers, and looks up to find smoke filling the room. Then Castiel is running by in a blur, carrying something large and red in his hand. Dean gasps when the red thing starts spurting white foam over the flames. He watches in amazement as the fire goes out. 

Castiel turns back to him, clothes crumpled and hair a complete mess. He looks at Dean with wide blue eyes and laughs. “First day and you start a fire.”

“My apologies, Castiel. I was attempting to cook you breakfast.”

“Really? Me?” Castiel perks up, grinning. “You were cooking for me?”

Dean frowns. “I was attempting to. Yes.”

After looking at the burned to ash bread and the overcooked eggs with wisps of foam on them, Castiel has to bite back a laugh. He turns his back to Dean so he doesn’t hurt his feelings by whatever his expression is. “I really appreciate this, Dean. This makes me really happy.”

“I ruined it.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Castiel turns again, giving Dean a goofy smile. “Want to try again? I could teach you.”

Dean’s frown turns to a beautiful smile. “Yes. I’d love that.”

  
  


\----

  
  


On their second full day together, Castiel brings Dean to the ocean. He had never seen it - the kingdom of Campbell too far away from any sea and without any technology to reach one - and the look on Dean’s face when he sees the body of water is worth the two-hour drive. 

After explaining beaches, sand, swimsuits, sandcastles, motorboats, jetskis, surfers, and life guards, Castiel sits in silence on the beach blanket and just watches Dean. He’s like a small child as he plays in the sand, using a bucket of water they brought to make mud so he can build structures near Castiel. From time to time, they talk about nothing important, but mostly they just enjoy the sounds of the beach together. 

They stay until the sun sets. 

“It’s still just as beautiful,” Dean tells Castiel as he sits beside him, their shoulders pressed firmly together.

“So are you.” Castiel reaches into his pocket and pulls out a picture he printed offline. He unfolds it and hands it to Dean. “I thought maybe you’d like to have this.”

Dean smiles softly as he brushes the pad of his thumb across the photo of the scanned family painting. It pauses over Sam Winchester’s face. The sadness that washes over Dean is obvious. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says quietly. “I thought it’d make you happy to have it.”

“It does. Of course it does. I just miss him. My brother, I mean. He would have laughed so hard yesterday when I burnt that food.” Dean laughs, wiping at his eyes. “And this,” he adds, gesturing to the ocean. “Sammy would have loved this.”

Nodding, Castiel looks out at the ocean. “Dean, can I ask something personal?”

Dean chuckles. “You saved me from being a statue, Cas. Ask whatever you want.”

And that’s when Castiel finds out why Dean was the statue. What had upset his father. The part-demon situation. The issue of Lucifer. All the impending danger lurking. 

That’s when Castiel promises Dean that they’ll figure it out. Lucifer won’t touch him. Not if Castiel has anything at all to say about it. 

  
  


\----

  
  


“Sire! Sire!” Crowley storms into Lucifer’s chambers with a grin. “We found him! We found the Winchester boy.”

Lucifer gets to his feet, leaving the book he had been reading on the table beside his bed. “Bring him to me immediately.”

“Yes, sire. Unharmed?”

“Yes. Of course.” Lucifer looks at him like he’s an idiot. “He’s to be my husband. Harm him and you’ll wish all I had done is eat your soul.”

Crowley nods. “Y - yes. Of course. Of course, sire. Yes. I - no harm. I swear.”

“As for anyone with him? Don’t spare them.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sire,” Crowley says with a smile. “I won’t.”

  
  


\----

  
  


Castiel’s colleague, and great friend, Chuck Shurley meets with Dean and Castiel on their fourth day together. He’s an occult professor at the local university, and his office shows it. There are three different spots he needs to adjust symbols so that Dean can even be near them, starting with the devil trap beneath the rug in front of his door. Once Dean is finally inside, and everything is safely back in place, the three of them sit together around Chuck’s desk and begin. 

There are many options for them, but none are guaranteed. Some have the possibility of trapping Lucifer. Others have the possibility of hiding Dean. There’s one spell that could maybe extract the demonology from Dean’s soul - but the risk is that it would kill him, so Castiel shoots it down immediately. Another choice is to try to trick Lucifer into believing Dean is dead or a statue again, which would involve some magic with Gabriel’s jewel, but Chuck isn’t at all confident about it. 

“In my opinion, the best option is this.” Chuck flips the book around, pointing to a symbol with foreign words scrawled below it. As Dean and Castiel lean forward to look, Chuck explains. “It’s a way to close hell temporarily.”

“Close hell?” Castiel asks, frowning. “I feel like if it worked, someone would have done it already.”

“Not many people have the ingredients needed, or the skilled witch, or the willingness to sacrifice what needs to be sacrificed.”

“What needs to be sacrificed?” Dean asks. “And do we have the ingredients and the witch?”

Chuck nods. “I have all the ingredients except one, but I know how to get that. A friend owes me a favor. As for the witch, I know a coven nearby. Their leader is extremely powerful and highly skilled.”

“And the sacrifice?” Castiel prompts, noticing Chuck is conveniently avoiding the fact Dean asked about it. 

“Well,” Chuck rubs the back of his neck. “Hear me out.”

“Oh, that sounds like a great start,” Castiel grumbles.

“The person who conducts the spell binds their life to it. That’s why it’s only temporary. When that person dies, the spell is broken, and hell opens up.” 

“And let me guess. You want me or Dean to sacrifice ourselves.”

“Yes. You, Castiel. Because Dean isn’t able to with the demon blood in his body.”

“What does that mean, then? My soul will go to hell when I die?”

Chuck looks away from Castiel, which is answer enough. “I know it’s not ideal.”

“Not ideal?” Dean barks. “He is not going to hell. It’s bad enough I’ll be stuck there for eternity. I won’t let-”

“I’ll do it,” Castiel interrupts. “I don’t mind.”

“No!”

“Yes, Dean. I want to do it. It doesn’t matter. My soul will be going where yours goes.”

Dean shakes his head. “You don’t understand. You can still experience things. Feel pain. Be tortured. Lonely. Bored. I - when I go down there, after I die, I’m sure I’ll be miserable. Punished beyond belief. What if they punish you too?”

“Then they do.” Castiel looks away from Dean, dismissing him. He locks eyes with Chuck and says, “I’m doing it. It’s my choice. What do we do next?” 

  
  


\----

  
  


The spell is surprisingly anti-climatic. Ingredients are put together. The witches show up. Castiel is put on a chair in the center of a huge symbol - the same from Chuck’s book - that’s painted on the wooden floor. Words are recited. Castiel’s soul lights up, a bright blue emanating from his body. 

When the light fades, Castiel is left looking exhausted and slightly shocked. They all stare at each other for a minute or so. Then, awkwardly, Dean asks, “What now?”

“Nothing. It's done,” the witch Rowena announces. 

“But,” Dean looks at Castiel, then at Chuck. “But how do we know it worked?”

“Trust me darling, it worked. I do not fail.” Rowena begins to walk out with her other witches, but she doesn’t leave before throwing over her shoulder at Chuck, “Now we’re even!”

When it’s just the three men again, Chuck assures them, “It worked. You’ll find out in a day or two if it didn’t, but I’m sure of it. It worked.”

Castiel and Dean weren’t exactly convinced, but Chuck never asked for money or anything else that could have made this a scam, so they go home. They wait.

  
  


\----

  
  


“Sire! Sire, please! I don’t - we don’t know how he did it!”

“You should have found him faster!” Lucifer roars, leaning forward and looming over Crowley. The other demons on his staff are in the large room, watching in terrified silence. Crowley already pissed himself. Lucifer doesn’t care. That won’t affect the taste of the useless demon’s soul. 

Not that he’ll be eating his soul anytime soon. Lucifer has much better plans. The man who closed Lucifer’s gates is only 25. He has a long life ahead of him. Lucifer will spend every day of it with Crowley on his rack. 

  
  


\----

  
  


When a day goes by, Dean feels ready to explode. When two more pass, him and Castiel start to hope. Then a week. Then a month. A year. 

It worked. 

It actually worked.

Dean struggles with that in a certain way. He breaks down one night in Castiel’s arms as they sit on the couch together. Between sobs, Dean talks about how his father never even looked for something like this. Never tried. His father didn’t care enough to. There was an answer out there somewhere, and his father didn’t look for it. Dean wasn’t worth it. 

“Shhh, Dean,” Castiel whispers as he holds Dean’s head to his chest, softly rocking back and forth. “Shhhh.”

“He hated me. It wasn’t my fault - I didn’t - I didn’t even know my mom cheated! It wasn’t my fault. I - hated me but - but it wasn’t my fault!”

“I know, babe. I know.” Castiel strokes Dean’s back. “I have no idea how he hated you. I can’t imagine someone hating you.”

Dean laughs softly. “Stop.”

“I’m serious.” Castiel moves so that he can look Dean in the eye. He cups the man’s face with both hands and wipes his tears away. “Dean Winchester, you are the most kind, compassionate, funny, stubborn, beautiful man I have ever met. Your father was wrong. It wasn’t your fault. None of this was your fault.”

“But-”

“No, Dean.” Castiel presses their foreheads together. “No. I don’t care if it takes the rest of my life. I will prove to you that you are worthy of love.”

Dean gulps. “Like your love?”

“Yes.” Castiel leans forward, their mouths so close Dean can feel the ghost of Castiel’s lips haunting his own. “I love you, Dean Winchester. I am so unbelievably in love with you.”

“Me too. I love you too. I - ngh,” Dean grunts, his words cut off by Castiel’s lips smashing against his. He melts into the kiss and smiles. It’s been centuries since he’s kissed someone - anyone - and he doesn’t mind. 

Castiel Novak was so worth the wait. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr @ destiel-love-forever


End file.
